


The trick is to keep breathing (there’s no ending without the journey)

by tawg



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Destiel fic that is really Calthazar fic, Gen, M/M, angel BFFs, best friend who loves you no matter what fic, slow and painful break up fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-15
Updated: 2012-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-07 19:30:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/434572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tawg/pseuds/tawg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the course of a relationship Balthazar asks some very good questions, and he gives some wonderful answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The trick is to keep breathing (there’s no ending without the journey)

“Why are you with him?” Balthazar asks, his voice light and airy and idle. Though he is anything but.

Castiel gives his friend a look that is both exasperated and amused, before following Balthazar’s gaze to Dean. Dean who is sitting with his friends at the bar, Dean who is talking with his hands and his whole face animated. Dean who will flick a glance over at Castiel for short, significant moments that light Castiel up inside, before looking away. “Because I love him,” Castiel replies patiently. 

“And that’s why you’re sitting over here with me, is it?” Balthazar volleys back.

Castiel’s face is blank and his tone flat when he replies, “I pulled the short straw,” but when Balthazar swats at him he can’t help breaking into a small, happy smile.

~*~

“ _Why_ are you with him?” Balthazar asks, all dramatic sighs and an exaggerated slump back into his chair. He’s wearing his leather jacket, a red scarf draped around his neck. “A man who can’t even check the kitchen calendar!”

They’d had plans for weeks to go out and ‘torment the town’. And while Castiel might be quietly glad to avoid the trouble that Balthazar would no doubt get him into, he’s still annoyed at the timing. It was sweet of Dean to surprise him with two tickets to see one of Dean’s favourite bands that morning, in a Dean kind of way. “Because he loves me,” Castiel returns, lacing his shoes up. 

Balthazar gazes up at the ceiling, sulking. “He _did_ know we had plans?” he asks, though Castiel knows that it’s also an accusation.

“They screen Titanic in the park every year,” Castiel replies smoothly. “We’ll get them next time.”

“Don’t let him dance with too many women,” Balthazar advises, one hand on Castiel’s shoulder and a stern look on his face. Castiel nods, and is relieved when the hug Balthazar gives him smothers some of his concerns.

~*~

Balthazar asks while Castiel is scowling at his pint of beer. The glass is starting to crack under the weight of his anger. “Someone has to put up with him,” Castiel grinds out. Then he takes note of his words, covers his face with one hand. Balthazar watches as Castiel un-hunches his shoulders, seemingly muscle by muscle. “It’s not even a big deal,” Castiel says at last.

“Of course not,” Balthazar agrees.

“Everyone fights,” Castiel continues, emerging from anger and settling into a resting state of sad exhaustion.

“Even us,” Balthazar contributes with a nod. 

Castiel pauses, takes a moment to search through his memory. “Right,” he says uncertainly. But that’s not right at all. Castiel and Balthazar never fight, not the way Dean fights. Castiel doesn’t fight with anyone the way he fights with Dean. There should be comfort in there, somewhere. The sign that what they have is special, if they get so caught up in one another.

But Castiel stares at his drink, and Balthazar stops him from getting self-destructive drunk, and his thoughts work around and around in awkward circles until he falls asleep in Balthazar’s bed as Balthazar curls up on a couch in another room.

~*~

Balthazar stops asking, though Castiel still finds himself answering the same old question. We’re going through a rough patch. His brother is in town, of course he can’t drive me to the doctor. Dean has a lot of friends, it’s nothing to worry about. It’s just money, he’ll pay me back. We’re going through a rough patch. We’re...

“He was never good enough or you,” Balthazar says casually as he pulls Dean’s clothes out of Castiel’s closet and tosses them on the bed. Castiel folds them neatly and puts them into piles. Later, when Balthazar packs them into a green garbage bag, he will take great joy in making sure they get all rumpled and that Dean’s favourite t-shirts get a few neat holes poked in them. Petty gestures that nevertheless make Castiel smile.

“You don’t think anyone is good enough for me,” Castiel returns, rolling Dean’s socks up into little balls. In a fit of rebellion, he’s rolling up odd socks rather than taking the time to properly pair them.

“You are pretty amazing,” Balthazar replies with a serious nod, and Castiel can’t help the snort of laughter. 

“So amazing that no one will put up with me,” Castiel replies a little bitterly.

“That’s not true,” Balthazar returns, frowning as a sleeve magically separates from the rest of a shirt in his hands. “I put up with you all the time.”

“That’s true.” And Castiel can’t stop the small smile on his face, “At least I still have you.” Balthazar gives Castiel a pretty smile with a fluttering of eyelashes, and Castiel laughs at him and feels so very grateful that Balthazar can bring some sunlight to every one of Castiel’s storms. 

“Why are you alone?” Castiel asks suddenly, overtly blunt but if anyone is used to that, it’s Balthazar. “You always...” Castiel struggles with the words. Despite three years with Dean, he still doesn’t exactly understand the vocabulary of relationships. “Everyone likes you,” he finishes lamely.

A silence stretches between them as Castiel shoves underpants into the green bag and Balthazar fishes Dean’s porn out of its hiding places. Balthazar should be mocking the women spread on the pages; Castiel knows that his friend has enough cutting remarks about Dean’s questionable talents of denial saved up to provide commentary for the whole day. Castiel feels guilty, regrets asking this question that has stolen away his friend’s words. But eventually Balthazar emerges from under the bed with magazines and a fluff-covered vibrator held in hands that are protected with bright yellow dishwashing gloves.

“Why settle for like,” Balthazar asks, “when you can hold out for something more?”

Castiel pulls a dust ball from Balthazar’s hair, dusts off his charcoal shirt. He can’t imagine waiting for love, waiting the rest of his natural life for something that would probably never emerge. It’s easy to forget, sometimes, that Balthazar has a loyalty and a patience that is so often masked by flippant humour. And then Balthazar suggests that they superglue the vibrator to the hood of Dean’s beloved car. Not masked, Castiel thinks as he tries to talk Balthazar out of it, as they have a completely ridiculous conversation that is only made better by the yellow gloves and the safety goggles Balthazar put on to protect his ‘fragile sensibilities from such wanton smut’. Accented, perhaps. Made better.

~*~

“Why are we even doing this?” Balthazar asks as he pulls up outside Dean’s new place of residence. He’d had somewhere to live lined up before Castiel had even kicked him out, an odd detail that has kept Castiel awake some nights.

“I’m sick of his junk cluttering up my lounge room,” Castiel replies. Dean was never going to collect his things. An odd realisation, considering that so much of Dean’s life had apparently been moved into Castiel’s apartment. Not enough of it, maybe. Or perhaps just not enough of Dean had been coming home each evening. Castiel looks at the sweet house set back on the block of land. A green lawn and healthy bushes and Dean’s car parked in the garage, the raised door a sign of his intention to go out later. Perhaps out to dinner. Perhaps to a bar where he would sit with this new person by his side.

“It’s not too late,” Balthazar says, and Castiel thinks that it’s an odd thing to say after two weeks of agreeing with Castiel that Dean was just a very impressive mistake. And then he notices that Balthazar is eyeing Dean’s Impala with a glint in his eye. “I brought superglue and I think I remember which box the fluff-brator is in.” 

Castiel wants to laugh, can feel that spark of amusement inside, but it doesn’t have the strength to rise to the surface. This is it. Even though Castiel was the one who told Dean to get out, even though Castiel was the one who read through the script and broke it off, this is it. This is the life Dean left him for. There’s a kid’s bike visible just past the Impala, a woman’s sandals sitting by the front door. Castiel was never going to be able to offer Dean this.

“Why did he even waste his time?” he asks. It’s a horrible feeling, being suddenly aware of everything that he doesn’t have to offer.

“Why did he waste _your_ time,” Balthazar corrects. “Why did he fuck around and screw you over and think that he could get away with treating the best thing that was ever going to happen to him like... like...” Balthazar makes a growling sound in his throat, clenching his hands on the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles go white. Castiel has never seen Balthazar at a loss for words before. He’s never seen him quite this angry. Balthazar, who acts for all of the world as though he wears his heart on his sleeve, is usually very good at keeping a lid on the thoughts he doesn’t think Castiel needs to hear. 

Castiel looks at his best friend who is so painfully angry on Castiel’s behalf. He looks at the house where Dean is finally happy, at least for the moment. He looks back on three years of his life and all of the sacrifices and all of the hell and all of the love. He twists in the passenger seat, looks at the bags and boxes that represent Dean’s little commitments to their life together, all of the cut losses he’d left behind. And then Castiel looks at that stretch of beautiful green lawn that Dean has learned how to mow, the long shadows of early evening.

“Did you bring anything besides the glue?” Castiel asks slowly. “Matches, perhaps?” When Balthazar looks at him, the anger is gone and replaced with vibrant, loving pride. A grin that Castiel can’t help returning. 

“Oh sweetie, I thought you’d never ask.”

~*~

They don’t talk about Dean anymore. It’s only when Castiel is half-healed that he finds the absence of Dean odd. This person who had dominated at least half of their conversations for so long. Stories about Dean, commentary on Dean, comparisons to Dean, sarcasm at Dean. The oddity is that they still have so much to talk about. Castiel invested far too much time in being Dean’s shadow, but Balthazar has no problem peeling that role back and revealing Castiel’s true form underneath. Castiel doesn’t even know who he is these days, not yet, but Balthazar is patient and careful and scathing and delightful. Balthazar waves off the eyes that roam over him as he treats Castiel to brunch, as he insists that Castiel tries a chai latte for the first time and laughs at the face Castiel makes at the sugar on his tongue.

Castiel has never had a taste for sweet things, and tells Balthazar so. “Lucky I’m so bitter on the inside,” Balthazar returns easily, their banter as much like a game of volleyball as ever. But Castiel pauses, and a familiar question writes itself across his lips for the first time.

“Why are you here with me?” he asks, looking out at the view of the pleasant bustle of the market street outside the cafe. “All of the mess I’ve made-” They’d been arrested, for the small bonfire on that perfect green lawn, an event that Balthazar had found delightful. (Castiel had apologised to the owner of the house about the damage while Balthazar had tried to convince the arresting officer that yes, he did need to be led away in handcuffs. Dean had not come outside to face Castiel’s wrath.) “Why do you put up with me?”

Balthazar smiles into his drink as he finishes it, and takes the time to place the cup neatly back onto its saucer and push it to the centre of their table. Perhaps he is taking a moment to find the nicest synonym for ‘pity’. But then Balthazar takes Castiel’s hand, clasps it with his palm covering the back of Castiel’s and his fingers wrapping across Castiel’s own palm. He gives Castiel such an achingly fond look that Castiel looks down at his half-cleared plate, that he doesn’t have the defences to meet Balthazar gaze-for-gaze.

“Because putting up with you is always the highlight of my days,” Balthazar replies with charismatic honesty. “And it is far preferable than soldiering on without you.”

Castiel doesn’t have the words to reply, doesn’t have the skills of comprehension to decipher what Balthazar is saying. But he knows that Balthazar is his best friend, that he brightened Castiel’s day and that he was the one person that Castiel had always defended to Dean, regardless of the fight it would cause. Balthazar makes Castiel light fires, and laugh, and heal. So Castiel stays silent, twists his hand in Balthazar’s grasp until their fingers are entwined.

~*~

No one asks Castiel why he is with Balthazar. There’s some kind of intrinsic sense to their pairing, the explanation clear in the way they look at each other, the way Balthazar makes Castiel laugh and the way Castiel keeps Balthazar grounded.

If anything, their friends just want to know what took him so long.


End file.
